


The Midnight Showing

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, end of season two means all things are plausible, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6992593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Midnight Showing was his church and Cisco, it’s sole parishioner. He worshiped the celluloid and let it balm his aching soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Midnight Showing

“...you’re welcome,” Cisco said to the slamming door, too quiet to be heard. The pile of parts formally known as Project XI sat in a pile before him. 

He glanced at the clock and sighed. It was nearly five and he would have to start all over again to get the prototype back to it’s former glory with the requested improvements. He’d been so excited to get this job, finally using his degree and really running wild. Instead, he’d become the bitch of R and D, doing the scutwork while people took credit for the few moments of creativity that they allowed him. 

“Fine,” he took in a deep breath and exhaled it. He picked up the circuit board and blew the debris gently off it. “You and me are gonna get this done right.” 

By the time it came together, it eleven-thirty, he was starving and sweaty, but Project XI was healed. And he was going to be able to make the midnight showing. 

“Eat me,” he said to his co-workers’ empty desks and bounded for the door. The hallways were empty and echoing the squeak of his sneaker soles back to him. The security guard waved vaguely at him as he went by, used to Cisco’s late night departures. The first few times, he’d entertained and scared himself stupid by imagining zombies crawling after him. Now, it was just the norm. Moving through the quiet with no one to notice or care about his comings and goings. 

Salvation was at hand, he reminded himself and he walked the four blocks from the fluorescent nightmare of work to the gentle glow of Star Cinema. The theater was a bizarre throwback with its mismatched black letters on the white marquee and ticket booth complete with red velvet curtains. 

The first time he’d come to the Star, it had been for a seven o’clock showing of a blockbuster superhero flick and he’d found it dingy and cramped with teenagers that couldn’t funnel through the single ticket sale line fast enough. He’d liked the interior with it’s heavy red curtains and the spot in the wings that still had an organ from the days of silent films, but not the unforgiving curve of the seats or the way sound carried when people talked. 

He might never have come back at all and the thought filled him with sadness now. He could’ve missed this. 

Missed walking straight by the ticket booth with its curtains drawn, using the single open door to go in.

The Midnight Showing. He gave it caps in his mind now. 

“Hi,” the Girl With No Name Tag was behind the concession stand. She was always there for the Midnight Showing. She refused to offer her name, but these days she had his order waiting for him on the counter: Twizzlers, medium popcorn with extra butter, and a coke that was more ice than soda.

“Hey,” he got out his wallet, fishing out a twenty. He looked at the book she was reading, puzzling through the equations upside down. “Ideal fluids?”

“Yep,” she handed him back his change. “Studying something that doesn’t exist. My favorite way to spend a Wednesday night.” 

“Hey, it helps us understand what does exist,” he pointed out, shoving the singles into her tip jar like always. “What’s playing tonight?” 

“Oh, um,” she picked up an index card from the register. “Ed Wood?” 

“Nice,” he gathered up his food. “Have a good night!” 

“You too,” she waved him off, returning to the book. 

The Midnight Showing was always something different. This was Cisco’s twenty-seventh attendance and there hadn’t been anything close to a repeat. There had been screwball comedies from the fifties, monster movies from the sixties, eighties action flicks and nineties rom coms. B-movies, A-movies, and even some art house had rotated in. They were as variable as the Midnight Showing itself. 

If Cisco hadn’t walked home late in a funk a few months ago, gotten turned around in his bad mood and seen the door propped open, he never would’ve known they happened at all. They weren’t advertised on the marquee or at the ticket booth. Instead there was a single index card taped to the open door that read in spidery handwriting, 

_Tonight only: additional late showing._

He’d wandered in and The Girl with No Name Tag had sullenly sold him a ticket for Mirrormask without looking up from her homework. The theater was empty. He sat alone in the middle row, absorbing the atmosphere of the old theater straight into his bones. It was like being the survivor of an apocalypse with nothing left to do, but absorb media. 

It was heaven. 

Tonight, he settled in his usual spot, propping his feet up on the seat in front of him. He crunched through a piece of ice fished from his coke. There were no trailers or commercials in front of the Midnight Showing. One moment the lights were up and then at midnight exactly they went down and the film flickered to life. 

For two hours, Cisco lost himself in Johnny Depp’s characterization of a B-movie director. Everything else, even his own thoughts, disappeared into the background. The Midnight Showing was his church and Cisco, it’s sole parishioner. He worshiped the celluloid and let it balm his aching soul. 

Then the last frame skittered into silence, the lights never came back up. The first time, he’d waited in the darkness until the end of the credits and a few minutes after that. Now, he just fished out his keychain with it’s LCD light, picked up his trash and exited out into the empty lobby. Whatever The Girl did during the film, she’d finished long before it was over. The lobby was also dark, a single light by the front doors guiding him back to the outside world. 

The heavy tread of footsteps was audible through the ceiling. The mysterious projectionist leaving their post at last. 

“Good night!” He yelled, generally upward. The steps paused, a hesitation that he always read too much into and then continued on their way. Cisco sighed and let the propped door swing closed behind him. 

With the residue of the theater’s air conditioning on his skin, his messy studio didn’t seem so bad. He could curl up on his bed and catch the few hours of sleep he had remaining to him without the chill of nightmares. 

In the morning, he swung by the theater on the way to work and was pleased to see the index card was in place. It rarely happened two nights in a row. 

And it turned out he really needed it. 

“What the hell is this?” His supervisor held up Project XI. 

“I fixed the lag time and upped the processing speed. It should work roughly two times the original speed,” Cisco said quietly. 

“Ramon, that’s not what we asked you to do,” the supervisor sighed heavily. “If you increase the speed of one component, we have to fix the others to compensate. We don’t have that kind of time. Do it again.” 

“But-” 

“Again,” he was told firmly and the office door slammed behind him. 

Cisco walked quietly back to the converted supply closet of his office, closed the door, and slumped into his chair, Project XI gleaming and perfect in his hands. 

“Sorry, baby,” he muttered to it. “Guess both of us are just too good for this place.” 

He set it down and reluctantly got his tools out to dismantle it. The screwdriver trembled in his hand. He put the tip of it to the first screw, but the shaking wouldn’t stop. 

Maybe he should go through his email first. 

After he deleted a truckload of spam, he found the pile of paperwork he’d been putting off doing. Then he took lunch. He never took lunch and the rest of the department stared at him silently as he crossed through. 

“Could you get me a coffee while you’re out?” one voice called out. 

“Oh! If you’re getting coffee, I’d love a cappuccino,” someone else chipped in. 

“No, I-” 

Before he knew it, his lunch hour was the hell of Starbucks, putting in a series of increasingly complicated orders while a line piled up behind him. The cash they had given him came up short and when he got back, the most he got was a distracted, ‘Thanks’. 

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” Cisco muttered under his breath, pointed at the copy machine, “you’re cool, fuck you, fuck you...” 

He never did ‘find the time’ to get back to Project XI that day. When he heard the scurry of retreating co-workers at five, he counted down a handful of minutes and then followed after them. There was no way he was going to clock a single extra breath there today. 

Without conscious input, his feet carried him straight to The Star. When he figured out what he’d done, he considered just turning around and heading home. There were people inside, talking and waiting in line for snacks where The Girl with No Name Tag was nowhere to be seen. Behind the counter weren’t teenagers, but a man and women, both slinging popcorn with ease and a smile. 

Sitting on the end of the counter, belonging to no particular customer was a large coke, a medium popcorn and a package of Twizzlers. Cisco froze, waited for someone to claim the order, but it was clearly set to one side and the line diminished without anyone coming to take it. Tentatively he stepped inside. The man behind the counter flashed him a broad welcoming smile. 

“Hey! Are you Cisco?” 

“Uh...yeah?” He took another step inside. The guy didn’t look like a creepy stalker, but what did a creepy stalker really look like? 

“Cool. I thought you might be. We’ve heard a lot about you,” the guy stuck out his hand. “I’m Barry.” 

“Hi, Barry,” Cisco was lured in by the gesture and shook his hand. 

“And this is Caitlin,” Barry pointed to the woman beside him who gave him a little wave. “I was starting to think you were a figment of Jesse’s imagination.” 

“No. Very real,” he considered this bit of information than laughed. “Wait, is Jesse The Girl with No Name Tag?” 

“You didn’t know her name?” Barry frowned. 

“I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Teenage girl working alone in a theater late at night...seemed wrong to ask her name,” he shrugged. “I didn’t realize she knew mine.” 

“Jesse is...perceptive,” Barry shot Caitlin a look. 

“She google fu’d you,” Caitlin said with a slight smile. “And you don’t have to worry about her safety. Though that was sweet of you.” 

“You want to take your stuff, man?” Barry waved a hand over the order. 

“I- no. I mean, I wasn’t actually going to watch a movie. Just wound up coming by out of habit.” And wow, that sounded sad and pathetic out loud. 

“That’s cool, you can chill with us,” Barry decided. “Movie’s about to start anyway, nothing to do except point people toward the bathroom for the next two hours.” 

“Don’t you guys have a boss? Don’t they care?” Cisco’s fingers were edging towards the Twizzlers on their own volition. 

“Harry doesn’t mind,” Caitlin shared a smile with Barry. “We don’t exactly work for him anyway.” 

“We’re more like volunteers,” Barry said with a nod. 

“For a movie theater?” Cisco frowned. “How does that work? I keep wondering how this place stays open at all...is it through labor exploitation?” 

The laugh was kind and mostly not at him, Cisco determined. 

“Nah,” Barry leaned forward, propping his elbows on the countertop. “More like a labor of love kind of thing? Harry doesn’t need the money. We’re sort of friends, I guess. Come by when we’ve got some time to spare.” 

“Sort of friends?” 

“Oh! Jesse said you were an engineer,” Caitlin pointed at his security badge, the edge poking out of his pocket. “I didn’t realize she meant for Mercury Labs. That’s not an easy place to get in.” 

“Yeah,” Cisco scowled down at the badge and shoved it further into his pocket. “And once you get in, the gatekeeping is really fantastic. What do you guys do when you’re not...volunteering at a movie theater?” 

“I’m a crime scene investigator for CCPD,” Barry leaned over the counter. 

“Yeah?” Cisco blinked. “Let me guess: it’s nothing like what you see on tv?” 

“Not even close,” Barry confirmed. “I spend a lot more time squinting at things. But I like it. Get to help people and solve crimes without carrying a weapon.” 

“Do you see a lot of weird murders?” 

“Once and awhile, we don’t exactly live in the crime capital of the country.” 

“Aw, c’mon, throw my daytime drama heart a bone or two,” Cisco pleaded. To his surprise, Barry laughed.

“Okay, so there was this one time...” 

Barry told him a few gross stories while Caitlin looked placidly on. When Cisco asked if it bothered her, she laughed. 

“I’m a doctor. I mean it’s been awhile since my E.R. rotation, but the memory lingers.” 

“What’s your specialty?” Cisco asked, interest piqued. 

“I do research now,” she smiled at him. “I’ve consulted with Mercury a few times.” 

“NDAs?” He sighed in sympathy. 

“All of them,” she agreed. “I think I can safely say that sometimes I look at things under a microscope.” 

They were easy to talk to. Barry was earnest and Caitlin listened like she really gave a damn about what someone was saying. It had been such a long time that it took Cisco until the movie let out to realize that they were in the opening stages of some kind of friendship. 

“Hey, I’m going to pick up Big Belly Burger for everyone,” Barry announced. “You want to come with?” 

That sealed the deal. They walked to the franchise and Cisco listened with no little awe at the sheer amount of food Barry was ordering. 

“Who is that for?” He asked bewildered. 

“Um...me, Caitlin, you, Jesse and Harry,” Barry shrugged. “We’re big eaters?” 

But back at the theater, Cicso quickly determined that ‘we’ mostly meant Barry, who systematically destroyed an improbable amount of burgers while Caitlin neatly ate a single one and a small pile of fries. One bag was set aside at the end of the counter for Jesse and Harry. 

“I wouldn’t mind meeting the guy who would run a place like this,” Cisco said casually as Barry made the last of the available food disappear. 

“Harry’s an acquired taste,” Caitlin smiled, a perfect china doll wistful sort of thing. 

“That’s polite,” Barry snorted. “He’s a jerk most of the time.” 

“But he’s your friend?” 

“Oh, sure,” long fingers tapped against the counter as Barry seemed to wool gather for a moment. “He’s a complicated friend.” 

“Night shift is here!”Jesse bust through the staff entrance, skidding to a stop when she saw Cisco. “Hey there, midnight cowboy! I thought I’d never see you in the daylight.” 

“Hi, Jesse,” he said casually. 

“Aw, and you know my name now and everything,” she beamed, taking a hamburger out of the bag. “I’m so proud. What’s next? Seeing movies at a normal hour?” 

“Probably not,” he sighed. “Work still let’s out late. And I like the Midnight Showing.” 

“Good,” she said with a surprising amount of satisfaction. “It was weird when no one showed.” 

“Hey, if you’re not doing anything until then, we were going to get a drink,” Caitlin offered with a smile. 

The bar was surprisingly nice, not the kind of place Cisco had frequented in college. Barry disappeared almost as soon as they got there, apologizing the whole time as he hugged Caitlin and sent Cisco a quick text to exchange numbers. 

“Hot date?” Cisco guessed. 

“I wish,” Barry sighed and then was gone. 

“He’s pining after Iris,” Caitlin took out her phone and flipped to a picture of a beautiful woman in a red dress. 

“Damn,” Cisco’s eyes widened. “Where’d he meet her?” 

“They grew up together,” Caitlin ordered another round of drinks and she filled him in on the good gossip. 

Gossip segued to research and she drew him intricate molecules on bar napkins. He noticed her engagement ring, but the question died on his lips. Something about the way her smile never quite reached her eyes. Instead, he asked her about the covalent bonds and the elliptical way she drew them. 

He walked her home in the dark, her apartment not far from his own as it turned out. 

“Thanks,” she said brightly under the light of her front door. 

“No problem,” he tucked his hands in his pockets. 

“You should swing by on Saturday,” she told him as she put her key in the lock. “Jesse gets experimental with the popcorn.” 

“Maybe I will,” he grinned and went on his way. 

The ‘maybe’ morphed into a ‘definitely’ by the time the weekend rolled around. Project XI gleamed on at his desk as other projects magically climbed his priority list. Normally, he came in for a few hours on Saturday rather than face the quiet of his apartment, but now with the promise of somewhere else, the decision wasn’t difficult to make. 

Jesse did indeed experiment with the popcorn filling bags with strawberries and a M and Ms while Barry sat on the countertop, taste testing, and explained the problem with the concept of bail money to her and Cisco. 

“So, it’s a systemic failure,” Barry shrugged. “But this probably boring to you guys.” 

“No, I think it’s cool,” Cisco grinned at him. “Is that what you do for fun? Political science?” 

“That’s more of a work rant, “Barry laughed. “Guess I hang around here for fun. What about you? Any awesome hobbies?” 

“Coding,” he grinned self-deprecatingly. “I know it’s a geeky thing to say, but it’s true. I’ve been working on an app so people can report meta sightings.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Barry studied his face and Cisco squirmed under the sudden focus. “Why?” 

“Safety mostly, I mean no one wants to walk into a meta fight, right? But I’m also curious,” he admitted. “I keep hoping that I’ll get to see the Flash in action. Everyone talks about him so much. So I figured I’d crowdsource data, see if I can’t figure it out.” 

“Huh,” Barry’s focus bled back into something more neutrally friendly again. “Let me know when you finish it. Bet it’d come in handy.” 

Caitlin was nowhere in evidence, but around the time Cisco’s stomach started to ache with too much sugar, the girl from her phone arrived. 

“Hi, I’m Iris,” she held out a hand to shake and Cisco took it gladly. Barry fell over himself to say hello and it was all very endearing. 

And sickening. Jesse rolled her eyes behind Barry’s back and Cisco had to stifle a laugh. The two of them left, dancing a little around each other, a warmth shared if not invested in fully just yet. 

“Guess I should head out too,” Cisco realized. 

“Nah,” Jesse shoved another soda into his hands. “You should stay and keep me company. There’s a midnight show anyway.” 

“Why do you guys keep having those if I’m the only one showing up?” He finally asked. 

“Dad just runs the movies anyway. I’m the one that started opening the doors,” she shrugged. “It’s better if he’s not alone.” 

“He’s the one running the projector?” 

“Yeah,” she fiddled with a stack of soda cups, lining them up exactly. 

“And he chooses the movies?” 

“Yep. Insomnia theater,” she sighed. “He’s a weirdo like that.” 

“He could come down and say hi. I don't bite you know ... unless it's called for,” Cisco said doing his best Hepburn impression. 

“I’ll let him know you said so,” she showed no recognition to the quote, but he was hardly surprised. “C’mon, I need you to spot check my math on this assignment.” 

He doubted she did, but the equations looked interesting and it was relaxing to look over someone else’s work. The hours slid by and he found himself settled into his usual seat at midnight, the flicker of lights adding a layer of ease to his already unusually contented soul. 

The opening credits for ‘Charade’ started and he let out a long laugh. Someone had appreciated his quote work. Jesse had only left him for a few minutes to go to the bathroom, but she must’ve talked to her father somehow, relaying the quote. Cisco settled in, pleased to watch an old favorite. 

When the movie ended, he stood up and made to go, then hesitated. He tilted his head back so he could see the small glass window with it’s fine bright beam. He waved. 

“Hey! Thanks! If you’re taking requests, how about Chaney’s Phantom of the Opera? I think you two might have something in common!” 

The projector snapped off, plunging the theater into darkness, but for the glow of the exit signs. Cisco let out a loud protesting noise. 

Silence. Cisco sighed and made his slow way through the seats and back into the empty lobby. He waited there for a minute until he heard the footsteps overhead. 

“Goodnight, asshole!” 

The footsteps stopped and for the first time, Cisco could’ve sworn he heard something else: a deep broken laugh. He grinned at the ceiling and let himself out. 

Monday morning still came, of course. He went back to work, treating himself to a larger mocha than usual. He was determined to get over himself and take Project XI apart that day. 

Except when he walked into his office, the intricate piece of work was gone. He stared for an absurdly long time, then searched his office. For one insane moment, he wondered if he’d willed it out of existence. 

“Mr. Ramon,” his supervisor barked from the doorway and Cisco looked up too quickly, clocking his head on the shelf above him. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“I’ve assigned Project XI to Rathaway. I think he’s better suited for the project,” his supervisor coughed one perfunctorily. “I’ve sent you schematics for the next iteration of the shock absorbers for the Kroger project. Get them specced for me by the end of the week.” 

“Kroger?” Cisco’s heart sank. “But that’s a done deal already. We’re just finessing it. Why-” 

“Because Rathaway would be better suited,” his supervisor coughed sharply again. “Frankly, I think you spend too much time on the work we give you making it to your standards rather than working expediently. I need someone turning out projects, not tinkering.” 

Cisco opened his mouth, then shut it sharply at the look that crossed his supervisor’s face. It smacked of pity and a low grade annoyance, 

“You’re a great engineer, Ramon. Maybe even one of the best I’ve worked with,” the shrug was stiff once up and once down. “But you’re not a very good employee.” 

And then the door swung shut again. Cisco sat down at his desk with a heavy thud. He started to check his email, then stopped. His blood was boiling and there was a faint whine of annoyance ringing in his ears. And there was no one- 

But there was now. He picked his phone out of his pocket and found Barry’s number. 

_Working for a living blows. Got any get rich quick schemes I can borrow?_

He figured Barry was working and might get to him later, but the phone buzzed back again in a second. 

_I’m running DNA tests on semen samples from a rave gone bad. Want to trade?_

_Sadly, yes._

_Dude. Lunch?_

Which was how Cisco wound up eating lunch at a coffee shop halfway across town. Barry listened to his tale of woe with an increasing storm cloud of wrinkles forming over his eyebrows. 

“What a bunch of dicks,” he surmised when Cisco finished. 

“Yeah,” Cisco sighed. “But they are a bunch of dicks employing me.” 

“How long have you been there?” 

“Uh...six months?” 

“I’ve been at CCPD for years,” Barry gave him a half-smile. “It’s got it’s ups and downs, but I’ve always had a decent boss. Wish I had some advice to give you.” 

“It’s cool,” Cisco brushed it away. “Nice just to have someone to vent to, you know?” 

“Definitely,” Barry beamed at him. 

It didn’t fix anything, but at least he wasn’t alone. When he got back to work, Cisco set aside all thoughts of Project XI and concentrated on the shock absorbers. It was easy work, the planning already done and although there were plenty of places that needed improvement, he built it according to spec. He finished it by five and clocked out with everyone else, cramming into the elevator. 

“Tough breaks,” Rathaway was elbow to elbow with him and Cisco waited for the jab he was sure was coming. But Rathaway only looked him over and shook his head. “It was flawless work.” 

Cisco stared at him until Rathaway looked uncomfortably away. 

“Thanks,” he finally said. 

“Makes my job easier. You did all work, I’ll get all the credit,” but it came out uneasy instead of unkind. Which was unsettling. “You should...you should come by my office tomorrow.” 

“So you can gloat?” Cisco crossed his arms tight over his chest. 

“No,” Rathaway looked away. “I just think you might want to see your work in action.” 

“What action?”

But Rathaway was gone, the elevator opening and him spilling out with the crowd. Cisco’s phone buzzed from an unknown number. 

_It’s Jesse. Please tell me you know something about control theory? Going to cry. Help me, Obi Ramon, you’re my only hope._

_I might be the droid you're looking for._ he wrote back. 

It was easy to forget about Rathaway while Jesse asked him increasingly difficult questions about automata theory, filling crisp white pages with neat rows of numbers. He fell asleep dreaming of calculations. 

In the morning, his curiosity got the better of him. He stealed himself for an attack, but when he walked into the corner office, Rathaway just looked relieved instead of like a self-satisfied weasel. 

“I’ve got things to do this morning,” Cisco opened. “What did you want to show me?” 

“Shut the door,” Rathaway gestured and Cisco complied reluctantly. “Good. Now. Look at this.” 

The monitor of his computer swiveled around to face Cisco, displaying a rolling model. Cisco leaned in at looked it over. There was a throbbing read outline that he recognized as Project XI. 

“Yep, that’s where it goes,” he shrugged. “Good for you for figuring it.” 

“Just shut up for a second,” Rathaway gritted out. “And really look at it. Does that look like a revolution in parsing quantum particles or like something else?” 

Cisco leaned in and really looked. Then blinked and looked again. 

“Fuck,” he said softly. 

“Yeah,” Rathaway sat back in his chair. “So. What the hell do we do about it?” 

And it was probably a testament to something vital about Cisco’s character that he didn’t much think about whether they _should_ do something about it. 

“I know someone who knows a reporter,” he chewed the inside of his cheek. 

“Call them,” Rathaway said grimly. 

The bomb rotated on, Project XI slotted neatly in. Cisco’s baby, ready to blow. He dialed Barry. Two hours later, he and Rathaway were slipping out like thieves to meet Iris in a dive bar a few blocks away from Mercury Labs. 

“You’re sure?” She looked over the papers they’d brought with them. “Why not just bring this to the higher ups?” 

“No one would listen to him,” Rathaway snorted. “And I was recently passed over for a promotion, so they’ll assume I’m bitter.” 

“Because you are bitter. You got up at a staff meeting and said 'This is an outrage' like a b-movie villian,” Cisco rolled his eyes. “But he’s right. I haven’t earned much respect there and there’s the possibility that they know.” 

“You think the CEO of Mercury Labs knows that their building an illegal weapon?” Iris clenched at the manila folder, half in terror and half in clear giddiness at the story. 

“It’s hard to know,” Rathaway stared into his drink. “There’s a lot that can be hidden in a budget.” 

“I’ll see what I can find,” she shuffled the papers together. “I promise not to name either of you.” 

“It won’t matter,” a weight settled in Cisco’s stomach. “They’ll figure it out. Not many people had access to critical parts of the project. And we blew our NDAs and violated the whistle-blower policy.” 

“Fines,” Rathaway made a face. 

“Jail time,” Cisco corrected. “Maybe not for you white boy, but they’ll find a way to pin my ass to the wall.” 

“Maybe, maybe not,” Iris took the folder up like it was a sword. “Let me see what I can do.” 

For a precious silver moment, she looked more like an avenging angel than a reporter and Cisco fully understood Barry’s painfully deep crush on her. 

The Midnight Showing was _Erin Brocovich_. Cisco watched it with his hands clenched together in his lap and when it ended he shouted up in the booth, 

“How the fuck did you know?” 

There was no reply, as usual. And no one to yell at outside. He considered his phone and eventually shot off a text to Jesse: 

_Is your father stalking me or something?_

No reply. 

The next day was painfully normal. Cisco hid in his office and played Minesweeper for hours, jumping every time his email alert went off. There was no showing that night and he already felt like he was crowding Barry and Caitlin too much. He paced around his apartment instead, letting his own movie choices play without paying them any mind. 

The news broke while he was choking down a meager lunch at his desk. His email pinged madly for a few minutes and then stopped dead in it’s tracks. He reluctantly opened a browser. Iris’ byline ran in milehigh capitals ‘Mercury Labs Higher Ups Build Death Machine’ -CEO Claims ‘They Went Rogue!’. 

Reluctantly, Cisco cracked open his office door. The department was in chaos, half the people shredding documents while the other half tried to stop them. Cisco’s supervisor was nowhere to be seen, the office shuddered and locked. Rathaway made eye contact and by mutual agreement, they both retired back into their hidey holes. 

The end was nigh. Cisco found a cardboard box and started packing away his meager personal effects in case they escorted him from the building. He wrote a quick email for his parents and Dante with a timer on the send in case he was arrested. Then he waited. 

And waited. 

The knock didn’t come until nearly five, a heavy pound of the fist. Cisco took a deep steady breath and opened the door. Dr. McGee stood on the other side of it, arms crossed. He’d never seen her in person before. 

“Francisco Ramon?” She asked briskly. There were two burly guards standing behind her. 

“Yes, hi, that’s me” he straightened up. 

“Come with me,” she turned on her heels and headed toward the elevator. She stopped at Rathaway’s office and repeated the procedure, so that the two of them trailed along behind her like confused ducklings. 

“She’s going to throw us out the window,” Rathaway hissed. 

“I don’t think the windows at the top of skyscrapers open,” Cisco gritted out, grateful that in comparison it might seem like he was keeping his composure. 

Dr. McGee gave them both an unimpressed look and they went both instantly stiffened as if she were a T-Rex, who wouldn’t notice them if they didn’t move. The elevator disgorged them at the administrative suites. Cisco had only been there once before, to get his contract signed with the in-house lawyer. He’d had the distinct feeling that they disapproved him on principal. 

The CEO’s office took up a modest corner of the building. It was appointed expensively and Cisco wasn’t sure he was going to be allowed on the furniture. Dr. McGee slid in behind her desk. To her right was a man in black with piercing blue eyes. 

“You’re Dr. Wells!” Cisco blurted before his brain could check in with his mouth. “You’re like my idol!” 

“Shut it, motor-oil-for-brians,” Rathaway stabbed an elbow discretely into Cisco’s side. 

“Dr. Wells is playing the part of white knight today,” Dr. McGee studied them and then pulled out a manila folder. “I don’t like disloyal employees and our board is already itching for someone to blame for this fiasco. As I had nothing to do with this entire mess, I have no intention in being that scapegoat.” 

“M’am, with all due respect-” Rathaway began. 

“That sentence has never ended respectfully,” she smiled without warmth. “So let me save you from yourself. The two of you are going to be heros. Mazel tov. Dr. Wells is a long standing investor in Mercury and he’s made it clear that he thinks what you did is...what was the word you used Harrison?” 

“Principled,” Dr. Wells had an unnervingly sharp gaze. Cisco could feel it piercing his skin and boring into bone. 

“Right, that,” she waved the word off. “I was going to go with ‘dumb, but well-meaning’. The bottom line is that you’ll be presented to the press as whistleblowers in an official capacity. That means that you’ll be compliant with all investigations and available to the press. You will dress nicely and do exactly as our P.R. team instructs. In return, you will stay on the payroll until the smoke has rolled off of this, then you’ll be given a very very generous severance package.” 

“Thank you,” Rathaway said with evident relief. 

“You’re going to blackball us everywhere, aren’t you?” Cisco wasn’t so quick to unwind. “Or at least our reputations will. No one will ever hire us again.

“I don’t know about that,” Dr. McGee’s smile widened fractionally. “ I would hope that you’d use the money to start your own firm. The two of you are formidable young minds. I look forward to acquiring your future corporation at a later date.” 

“Mercenary,” Rathaway said with clear approval. “What do you think, Ramon?” 

“I think I’d rather take an acid bath, then go into business with you,” he nearly said, but corrected to, “We’ll talk.” 

“For now, Rathaway, you’re with me,” Dr. McGee decreed. “You’ve had your share of media preparation already, so you’ll be taking the stage tomorrow. Ramon, I expect you here tomorrow morning in a suit and shoes that don’t blind me.” 

Before Cisco could bite off a retort, Dr. Wells got to his feet and walked over to him. The intensity of the gaze racked up another notch and Cisco had to repress a shiver. 

“Dinner,” it was less an invitation and more an order. 

For the second time that day, Cisco was scurrying after one of the top five most respected scientists alive. He felt a little faint. Wells didn’t say a word as they were out of the building and striding down the wide boulevard. 

“Thank you,” Cisco said with as much sincerity as he could muster. 

“It was the logical thing to do,” Wells shrugged. “Chinese?” 

They ate at a hole in the wall takeout place at a rickety table, their feet inches apart. Up close, Cisco could see that Wells look exhausted, dark bags under his eyes and a tease of grey through his dark hair that had never shown up in the old glossy magazine covers that Cisco had certainly not hidden under his bed along with one of his brother’s Playboys. 

“Tell me about Project XI,” Wells dipped his chopsticks into the lo mein. 

“It was meant to be the core of a more efficient particle analyzer,” he turned his attention to his beef with broccoli, yanking his gaze from the handsome, if haggard face. “They gave me specs and I built to them, but my boss kept nerfing them.” 

“Did he give you a reason?” 

“Said that it worked to efficiently for the rest of the device,” Cisco grimaced. “But I guess they needed it to work at the right parameters to trigger whatever they were looking to do, right?” 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Dr. Wells lifted his eyebrows expectantly. 

“Telling,” Cisco gave him a half-smile. “Sorry. Old habits.” 

“Don’t apologize to me. Just don’t pretend to be anything less than what you are,” chopstick flashed and Dr. Wells had a piece of Cisco’s beef, eating it before Cisco could process that. “If you’re going to work for us, we need you confident, not wilting.” 

“Work for...who?” Cisco stared at him. “I mean...wait. I’m confused. Are you offering me a job and if so, doing what? Where? You don’t have S.T.A.R. anymore-shit. I mean...sorry?” 

Looking utterly unphased by Cisco’s babble, Dr. Wells took a sip from his can of soda and leaned back in his chair. 

“The offer isn’t to work in a lab. It’s more freelance.... and a unique opportunity. I wouldn’t have considered you at all, but you come highly recommended.” 

“From who?” Cisco laughed nervously. “I couldn’t get a good reference out of any of my professors after I blew up that one lab and Mercury sure as hell isn’t telling.” 

“Ah,” the smile that spread over Dr. Well’s face was feral and broad. “So you haven’t figured it out yet. Interesting.” 

“Are you jerking me around?” he demanded. “Because it’s been a really long day.” 

“No,” Dr. Well’s expression softened fractionally. “I’m not. Finish eating and I’ll show you.” 

Their food disappeared rapidly after that. Then Harrison dropped a few bills on the table and headed for the door with Cisco on his heels. They walked quietly through the neighborhood. Harrison walked with a purpose, long legs eating up ground. They made a few familiar turns and then Harrison stopped abruptly. 

In front of the Star. Cisco closed his eyes and swallowed heavily, 

“Harrison...Harry. You’re Harry.” 

Dr. Wells nodded once sharply, then turned to push open the door. 

“No no no,” Cisco protested. “You can’t just...I want an explanation.” 

“You’re getting it. Be patient. This way.” 

Feeling not unlike Alice about to nibble on a questionable cake, Cisco followed. Harrison walked past the snack counter and through the door behind it. At first it looked like the orderly store room that Cisco had expected. Shelves of candy and popcorn, a few tubs of syrup for the soda machine. There was another door at the back with a simple keycode lock. Dr. Wells reached out, flicked it and the pad moved aside to reveal a fingerprint scan. The door beeped and swung open. 

“I knew this place was too good to be legit,” Cisco watched the slow slide and the stairs that led downward into a soft blue light. 

“We’re not doing anything illegal. Mostly,” Dr. Wells started down the stairs. 

Cisco looked over his shoulder and the nice sane closet. He could leave. He owed Dr. Wells a lot, but there was nothing forcing him to go down the creepy stairs out of some horror movie in the basement of a building no one knew he was in. Nothing but his own curiosity. 

He followed, sneakers squeaking a little on the hard plastic steps. The faint smell of warm plastic that would always remind him of his first computer suffused upward. The blue light turned out to be from warm overhead lights that spilled over a vast space that was brighter than any basement had a right to be. 

And in the center of it all was the Flash’s suit. 

“Fuck me,” he stopped dead in front of it. “Is this...is this Flash HQ?” 

“We call it the Cortex,” Barry stepped out from a room behind the stairs. Caitlin followed him, dressed in a lab coat. 

“We?” Cisco asked weakly. Dr. Wells had arranged himself at a dock of computers, fingers flying over a keyboard. 

“It’s just the four of us,” Caitlin smiled tightly at him. “Five now, if you’re interested.” 

“Interested in what?” He looked to Barry pleadingly. “What the hell, man?” 

“Uh, I’m the Flash?” 

Cisco swallowed and then nodded, “Okay, that explains the burgers. I’m less worried you’ve got an eating disorder now.” 

“Thanks?” Barry laughed weakly. 

“You’re suit is a disaster, you know that right?” Cisco turned his attention to the fixable, to what made sense. He approached the spandex monstrosity with a frown. “I mean, this probably protects you from jack and shit, right? How does it even stay together at the speeds you run?” 

“Uh,” Barry looked to Dr. Wells who shrugged. “It doesn’t really. We’ve worked on the fiber and I can use one for a couple of days at a time.” 

“That’s terrible and your designs are terrible,” Cisco decreed. “I could do better than this with two hours and one hand behind my back.” 

“Prove it,” Dr. Wells held up a screwdriver. “Put your work where you mouth is Mr. Ramon.” 

It took more than two hours, mostly because Cisco spent a half hour poking everything in the lab space they showed him. It was the best equipped workspace he’d ever had, including his own bench at home. Someone with serious cash and a keen edged mind had put it together. Cisco got his hands dirty as soon as he’d sussed everything out. There was an old theory he’d shoved in his ‘when I have time’ bin of his mind and he drew it out now. 

“Here,” he resurfaced a few intense hours later, holding out a glove. “I ran out of wiring, but try this on for size.” 

Barry looked up from a screen where Dr. Wells had been explaining something. 

“Wiring?” Barry was at his side in a blink, a faint breeze ruffling through Cisco’s sweaty hair. He plucked up the glove and slid it on, opening and closing his fingers. “This feels...light.” 

“Bulk and speed don’t get along, right?” Cisco shrugged. “It was something I was going to....you know what? Doesn’t matter. It’s fireproof and hardier than regular material. The whole suit would take me a couple of days, maybe a week if I had the materials. Test it out first though.” 

He wasn’t expecting the lightening fast hug, then a blur of red light as Barry disappeared. 

“Does that ever stop being weird?” 

“You get used to it,” Dr. Wells leaned back in his chair. “I can match your Mercury Labs salary. The hours are erratic, the benefits are terrible, but the work is good. And you can eat whatever you want out of the snack bar.” 

“What do you actually want me to do?” 

“I want you to put your brain to work for us like you just did. Help us. Help Barry.” 

“I’ll take it,” he held out his hand, pleased when Wells shook it. It was warm, dry and just the right amount of strength. "On one condition?" 

"And that is?" 

"I get to choose the Midnight Showing movie at least once a month." 

It turned out that Dr. Wells' laugh was just like his handshake: warm, dry and strong. 

Cisco's stomach dropped. _You should be kissed,_ he thought, _and often, and by someone who knows how._


End file.
